Dear Mr. Anderson:
I read in your paper where you are indulging your S&M tendencies further with a Cal Berkeley homegame season ticket, & thought you might like to make use of the enclosed for a few free grabs, or whatever, I’m not going.
If you bump into Moose Meyer, ask him why he never answers my letters. Just because he’s chairman of the board of Union Pacific doesn’t change the fact that I was “pinned” or as we used to say on Greek Row “stuck” by him, & I should think he could at least acknowledge my recent pleas for a little material assistance. . . there’s nothing wrong with a lady asking to be considered for a brakeman’s job, is there? & if you see his old pal Lance “Redsnapper” Davis, the same goes for him, too. Shortly before Bill Saroyan died he told me that Lance was a professor of political science at Purdue & seemed to be pretty well fixed, & I can’t get an echo out of him either. Well, nobody wants you when you’re old & gray, but noblesse oblige & toujours gai, Mr. Anderson, & at least I still have you & I have AVA as underwear & to press to my bosom as winter is icumen in, ilhude sing goddam again, & the wind whistles merrily, merrily under the bridge. & speaking of having your faith in human nature shattered, how much did you lose betting on the ’49ers in their season opener against the Vikings? “If you can believe that, you can believe anything.” . . . Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington. & on the same subject, did you see where some of the Maharishi’s former disciples are suing him for thirty nine million, but somebody explained it to them. & furthermore, you yourself, Mr. Anderson, have all these people saying mean things about each other in your newspaper. Picky, picky, picky. Why can’t we all accept the peace of El Ron? Or at least Hodel? You don’t catch me carping & whining & making cutting personal remarks about trivialities & parading my misfortune, although God knows I’ve had my share lately, what with my date last week stepping on the teeth, & another publisher rejecting my book, “After Remedial Reading. . . What?”, don’t laugh, Mr. Anderson, it has a big plug for you & you need all the help you can get.
Wanda Tinasky
Tip Top Club
Fort Bragg
P.S. I also see in the paper where John Fremont is trying to get you & Paul Krassner sniffing armpits. As you may recall, Krassner was a here of the Kiddiekar revolution back in the ’60’s, but he was ruined when his recurring nightmare came true & his skin cleared up. Krassner used to have a face like a cherry cheesecake; now all he has is the pits.
Be First to Comment